


Point of No Return

by whispered_weavings



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 01:58:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16822843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_weavings/pseuds/whispered_weavings
Summary: Ghost meets Phantom of the Opera!





	Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from Tumblr! Written by D and beta'd by Jen! I hope you enjoy!

You wake up. Your limbs feel sluggish and heavy, and you can barely stay conscious. You manage one look around the room, and you swear you see something move, before darkness takes you…

Your eyes blink open once again. More alert this time, you struggle to sit up against the headboard of the massive bed you’ve been laid on. The room around you is neat and orderly, lit by softly glowing candles and lamps, placed strategically around the space to give it a sensual atmosphere. An organ takes up one wall, immaculately dusted and polished, the keys gleaming. A fireplace sits along another, the fire within soothing, warding off the coming winter’s chill.

“You are awake.”

Your head snaps over to look at who spoke, and your blood runs cold. Sitting in a chair to the left of the bed is a man. Dressed simply in a white button down shirt and black slacks, his eyes catch and hold yours. His eyes…his right a piercing, beautiful green, and the left an icy blue/white. His face is painted to look like a skull, giving him a terrifying, though somehow haughty look. You swallow hard, and whisper, “Papa Emeritus.”

He stands, giving a flourishing, mocking bow. “I am glad to see what wits you have coming back to you quickly,” he says, watching as you stare at him. “I do hope that is a continued trend.”

“Where am I?” you ask, your voice shaking, though you try to keep it firm.

“Where do you think, ghuleh?” he snaps, derision in his voice. “I know you are smarter than that, girl. I have been grooming you after all.”

You can feel your face flush, and you scowl at him, using your anger to keep your fear squashed down. “Pardon me for being disoriented after being kidnapped, sir.”

He smirks faintly. “Better,” he mutters, and he pours you a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand. You take it and sip, staring at him as he stares at you. An idle, almost hysterical thought crosses your mind-how is the water is so cool when you see no ice?

“Why am I here?” you finally manage, handing the now empty glass back. He takes it, setting it down on the nightstand, before starting to pace.

“Do not think that I haven’t noticed the attention you have been receiving from that…boy,” he snarls, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard so much scorn put into one word.

“Don’t hurt him,” you demand, all but glaring at the man.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Why should I not? He has dared to think that you could be his, when you will never be.”

“You have groomed my voice, Emeritus,” you snap, “not who I choose to give my heart to!”

He laughs, a sinister sound that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. It resonates around his living space as if ghosts take up his mockery alongside him. “Oh, my naive little diva. Your heart, your mind, your…body. They were never yours. They belong to me. I molded them, after all.”

Your eyes widen, and you bolt for the doorway. He laughs again, moving almost supernaturally fast to catch you before your fingers even touch the frame. He picks you up, ignoring your protests and cries as he dumps you back onto the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, my little one,” he growls. He motions to the door, and you gasp as it closes, and the sound of a lock echoes in the room. “You may as well sing for me.”

He stomps over to the organ and begins to play. You know this music, like you know your own heartbeat. This is the first song he ever taught you. Despite trying to stop it, the words rise up in your throat, and your voice, beautiful and awe-inspiring, fills the room alongside the organ. Papa closes his eyes and allows a soft smile to pull on his lips. In spite of your…behavior, he really is proud of you, of what you’ve become.

Your eyes widen as, for the first time ever, his voice joins yours, twining around your notes, lifting them up, caressing them softly. You close your eyes, beginning to sweat, both from the effort of keeping up with him and from how sensual it is to join voices. You shiver, your nipples tightening under the thin shift which is your only covering.

Suddenly, he stops everything, the music fading away into discordant echoes as sharply as the way he stands. He turns to you, and his eyes are dark with desire. “That boy does not deserve you,” he rasps, walking slowly to the bed. “Those people out there, they do not deserve you. Sometimes…even I do not deserve what you have become…” He gets on the bed, crawling toward you. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as he reaches for your ankle, and he hesitates for a moment as if even he should not touch you, before firmly wrapping his hand around the joint. His skin is warm and only lightly calloused, but his strength won’t be denied as he yanks you under him.

You gasp softly, caught by his gaze as he hovers over you. “You are so beautiful,” he says softly, reverently, before leaning down and kissing you hard. You whimper, wanting to fight, but he feels so good and so…right. He is right, he molded you, made you who you are…how could you think that anyone else has a right to any piece of that. Slowly, you kiss back, and he’s patient as you get your bearings with him. But not for long. His hands cup around your thighs, grip just short of bruising, and steadily moving up. He spreads your legs as he devours your mouth, and he settles his hips between your thighs, erection pressing into you between your thin shift and panties. You gasp softly, and he chuckles darkly.

He pulls back, looking down at you, eyes roaming your form hungrily. “Strip, girl, before I rip that off of you.”

You swallow hard, but you obey, tossing the shift and your panties aside. You try to cover yourself nervously, but he’s having none of it. He pulls your arms down, eyes locked on your chest, examining every inch of skin revealed to him. “Lovely…you are simply breathtaking, my dear…” His hands smooth along your shoulders, before sliding down to cup your breasts. You shiver at the touch, and you press gently into his hands, making him smile. “That’s right, dear one, let Papa make you feel good.”

You nod eagerly, and you lean up so you can kiss him again. He kisses you back, and you sigh and pull away. “I’m sorry, Papa,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest. “I’m sorry for even thinking about someone else.”

“All is forgiven,” he says softly, thumbs gently rubbing over your nipples. “And I apologize-if you are thinking about some boy like that, I have been remiss in reminding you that you are mine. I will schedule more visits from now on.”

You beam to him, then moan softly as he lowers his head to your chest. His tongue is warm, soft but insistent, and your fingers cup and caress his head and cheeks as you press into his mouth.

But the softness he’s blessed you with so far disappears as he savagely bites down next to a nipple. You scream, pain mixing with pleasure in your guts, and he pulls back a little to observe his handiwork. It wasn’t enough force to break the skin, though it hurt like hell. But then…why did the thought of him marking you like that turn you on so much?

“Oh, my little songbird,” he moans, nuzzling his face against the mark he just made. “When you see this marking in the mirror, when you press fingers to your divine cunt in the dead of night…think of me…” You flush at his words, and he laughs in delight. “Do you honestly think that I don’t know? I watched you try to work up the nerve to ask…that boy to bed. And I watched you fail, that sweet blush on your cheeks. But fret no longer, my little one: your Papa will give you what you need.”

He slips down your body, pulling your legs gently over his shoulders. You gasp as you feel the press of his thumbs to your lower lips, spreading you wide open. He growls softly, a sound that makes you shiver, that makes more wetness seep out of you. He smirks, catching your eyes in that deadly two-toned stare, before licking a stripe from entrance to clit. You cry out at the sensation, a musical sound that has Papa’s cock twitching in delight. He growls again at your taste, pure and untouched, and all his. He laps at you, wanting to drink you down, to devour…

You know that sex is going to feel good. Otherwise, why do so many chase it, seek it out, despite the trouble it can cause them? But this…this is beyond anything you have imagined. The feel of his tongue, firm and wonderfully wet, lapping expertly at your clit is beyond compare. Your hands press to his head, wanting him to stay between your legs forever, and he chuckles at your touch. “Enjoying yourself, my little songbird?”

He barely raises his head to speak, and hearing him talking while his mouth is still on your flesh…you whimper, feeling sweat break out on your skin. He drives your pleasure higher and higher, and you scream his name as you come. He growls against you, gripping your hips so hard you know there’s going to be bruises. He barely gives you a chance to recover though, before pulling his cock out, not even bothering to undress. He slicks himself in you, before pressing his tip to your entrance. He feels you stiffen nervously, and to your surprise he gentles himself.

“My precious songbird, you must relax for me. I do not want to cause you any pain.” You look into his eyes, and there is just the faintest glimmer of kindness. You smile softly, and you allow yourself to go totally boneless under him. “Yes, that’s it…”

He starts pushing in, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. He feels nothing like your fingers; he’s long and thick and he’s spreading you wide open around him. There’s a slight sting from being stretched, but that’s it, and you gasp and hold on to his biceps as he seats himself in you. “Oh, my dearest, you are heaven around me…”

He stays still for a long time, letting you get used to his girth. Eventually, he starts a gentle rocking motion, making you gasp and whimper his name. He growls, and you can see it in his eyes-he wants nothing more than to pound you, to fuck you…but he stays gentle for now, controlling himself. The gentle rocks turn to slow thrusts, and you gasp, your hips rising up to meet his.

“You were made for me…your mind, your body, your voice…They are mine. And I…my little songbird, I am yours.” His voice is reverent, consuming…and it makes you smile.

“You are mine?” you ask, and he gasps out a yes. With a strength that surprises you both, you flip him over onto his back, and you sit astride him, quickly sheathing him inside you again. “You are mine…and I am yours…I think I like that arrangement.”

He laughs, low and dark, fingers curling around your hips. “I had a feeling you might, dear one.” He bucks up into you. “But keep in mind, you are allowed this at my-”

“Yes, yes, you’re in charge, I got it,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes, and he frowns, but allows you to continue. You groan, shutting your eyes and throwing your head back. Any ire he feels at your smart mouth melts away at the beauty of you finding your pleasure atop him. He moans your name, hands raising to cup and knead at your breasts, to pluck at your nipples.

Eventually, one hand slips down between your folds, and you gasp as his fingers find your clit. Still oversensitive from your first orgasm, even the lightest touches make your hips buck, and your breath to leave your lips in a hiss. He smirks at your sound, but keeps his touch gentle, soft circles that make your toes curl.

Your hands scrabble over his chest as you feel that coil in your belly begin to tighten again. “Yes, little one, come for me! Scream my name, tell the world who you belong to!” And you do just that as your orgasm erupts. Your voice echoes in the cavernous room, and you hang on to him for dear life as you writhe and buck, your walls squeezing him hard. He roars as he comes with you, spilling into your quivering cunt that’s milking him for all he can give you. Slowly, you both come down, and he gently pulls out of you, helping you flop to the side before breathing hard.

You take stock of yourself, reaching down and gingerly touching your lower lips. They’re a little wet, and you brace yourself as you bring your hand up, expecting to see the remnants of your virginity. But you see…nothing, nothing but clear fluid. You blink in surprise, turning to see Papa watching you. “Shouldn’t I have…well…?”

“Bled?” He snorts. “Not if you are prepared the correct way.” He smirks darkly at you. “If you are disappointed I can change that the next time.”

You frown at him. “Of course I don’t want to bleed.” In a smaller, almost grudging voice, you say, “Thank you.”

“Ah, manners. I was wondering if you’d forgotten them.” You roll your eyes, but smile faintly as you hear a soft, “You’re welcome.”

You both go quiet, and he pulls you close suddenly, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You blink in surprise into his chest, but smile and close your eyes, allowing yourself to fall asleep in the aftermath.

When you wake, you’re in your own room, dressed back in your shift, and there’s a red rose on the pillow next to you. A short note attached to the stem promises, “I will see you soon, my little songbird.”


End file.
